The unluckiest day in the calendar. No one in their right mind would schedule anything important to happen then. Every man present contemplated the effect of offending three gods.
“That’s it, then,” the Polemarch summarized. “We’re doomed.”
Pericles said, “The situation is this: we can’t cancel the show because it’s a sacred festival. Nor can we continue the play until the murder is avenged, and if we don’t do something we’ll look incompetent before the whole world. We must complete to schedule because the season is so busy for sacred rites.”
Everyone agreed.
“Then there’s only one solution,” Pericles said with an air of calm logic. “We must suspend the calendar until the murder is solved.”
“Suspend?” I said, confused. From the perplexed looks around the room I wasn’t the only one.
Pericles said, “The calendar doesn’t move forward until the crime is solved to the satisfaction of the Gods. That solves every objection.”
“Except for one. You can’t stop time, Pericles!” I said.
“You’re right, I can’t,” Pericles said. “But he can.” Pericles pointed to the Eponymous Archon.
The Archon nodded unhappily. “I don’t like it, but if I have to, I will.”
“But sir, you can’t stop time either,” I said.
“Yes I can. Do you understand the meaning of my title?” he said.
“Eponymous Archon? It means the leader who gives his name.”
“Gives his name to what?” the Eponymous Archon persisted.
“To the year,” I replied promptly. Everyone knew that. This year would be known forever as the Year of Habron, because Habron was the personal name of this year’s Eponymous Archon. Then it struck me. “Sir … Habron … you own the calendar.”
Habron the Eponymous Archon nodded. “We take our calendar months from divine Selene, who controls the movement of the moon. We take our years from Apollo, who drives the Sun about the Earth. Why Selene and Apollo can’t coordinate themselves better I don’t know; but the two of them never match up at the end of the year.” The Archon shrugged. “Maybe they just don’t get on. But for whatever reason, it means that at the end of every year, whoever holds the office of Eponymous Archon must add a few extra days to our calendar, to catch us up with Apollo.” He thought about it, then nodded. “Yes, I see what Pericles is getting at. I can add the extra days now, and not at the end of the year. Then when you’ve caught this murderer and the plays resume, it will still be … what’s the date today?” asked the man in charge of the calendar.
“It’s the ninth day of the month of Elaphebolion,” Sophocles said.
“Thank you,” the Eponymous Archon said. “When the Great Dionysia resumes, it will still be the ninth of Elaphebolion, and it will be as if none of this ever happened. Yes. The more I think about it, the more I like this plan of Pericles’.”
Smiles all round, from everyone except me. I said, “But sirs, what if I can’t catch the kill-”
“Good, that’s settled then,” Pericles interrupted. “Eponymous Archon, would you like to make the announcement to the people?”
Habron the Eponymous Archon hesitated.
“Would you like me to make the announcement?” Pericles offered. There was no hint of modesty in his voice.
Habron accepted. His relief was evident.
“I have an idea how we might get away with it,” Pericles said. He outlined his plan. Heads nodded once more.
When it was clear that he had agreement, Pericles turned to one of his assistants.
“Call for an emergency meeting of the People of Athens,” he said. “Right away. Every citizen to meet at the theater.”
SCENE 19
Pericles stepped onto the stage, where most of the citizens of Athens had gathered. It was late afternoon, the perfect time to catch men between work and home. The word had gone out that there was to be an important announcement.
Diotima and I hid behind the skene, out of sight, where we could peek our heads around the corner. I wanted to see everyone’s reaction to what Pericles had to say. The archons had followed Pericles into public view. They stood to one side of him. In fact, they looked remarkably like a chorus to Pericles’s protagonist.
Pericles didn’t shout for attention. That would have been undignified. He stood patiently until everyone noticed that the most powerful man in Athens awaited their pleasure. The people fell silent more quickly and effectively than if someone had bellowed at them.
“People of Athens!”
Pericles’s voice was smoother than music. People listened because they wanted to hear more.
“People of Athens, today a murder has been committed within this theater in which we sit. That is bad enough, but the crime was in full view of the god Dionysos himself. This is impiety of the highest order.”
Pericles paused to let the people think about that. The bright ones saw the implications immediately. A low murmur swept across the crowd.
“As long as the city does nothing, this crime reflects on us all. Dionysos will turn his face from us.”
Lakon emerged onstage. He carried a white cloth of some delicate material. This he placed reverently over the head of Dionysos, to obscure the God’s view.
Lakon stepped back from the statue and bowed like a supplicant. The movement was as smooth and elegant as might be expected of a professional actor. Yet the audience had no way of knowing who he was, for Lakon had assumed the mask that the victim had worn, the mask that had covered his face when his corpse hung from the machine.
To the audience it looked as if Thanatos, the god of death-or perhaps it was the murdered man-had returned from the grave to cover the eyes of the God whose most sacred festival had been polluted. I was privy to Pericles’s plan, yet even I felt a shiver run down my back.
Pericles hadn’t even turned to watch. Instead he spoke as commentary to the action, “The impiety must be avenged. The Great Dionysia is suspended from this moment, to resume on the same day when the murderer is brought to justice. Citizens of Athens, when I say the same day, I mean the same date as well. On that day, the cover will be removed and the Great Dionysia will continue.”
In the tense atmosphere the audience thought about the meaning of Pericles’s words. It slowly dawned on them that he had just suspended the calendar. There were murmurs.
Pericles smiled and said in a jocular tone, “In the meantime, we must not forget the God. For this is the time to honor him. We will not allow crime to rule our lives. A public feast will be held in honor of Dionysos, a dionysiac feast, in the agora. The feast will be held five days hence, to give my staff time to prepare. It will be my gift to the people of Athens.”
Pericles managed not to wince as he said this. A public feast was going to cost him a fortune. He was one of the few men in Athens who could afford it, but I’d never known a man tighter with his money. I took some satisfaction in knowing how much Pericles was going to hate this.
There were murmurs of appreciation from all around the theater. Cheers erupted in several places. They merged into one large cheer for Pericles across the entire theater, as people realized he had promised them a free feast. Their minds had glossed over the news that the Dionysia would be delayed.